Everyone’s creative in their own way, I’m certain. My mother loves to knit (Christmas presents), my husband rarely reads fiction but writes non-fiction and is the best interior decorator, my brother draws brilliant (if somewhat mean) caricatures of people – usually me – and is an expert at bending the truth. I’m like my father, I love to write and I always have. But when real life starts getting in the way, then the juices dry up.
The first time it happened tragedy had just struck my family and, for two years, that was the end of my creative stream.
Writer’s block exists and it’s not something you can ask two hunky guys to come and take away. It persists. When life knocks me cattiwampus I can’t write because my brain won’t go into gear.
About a year ago something happened to me and whoomph – I was felled by writers’ block again. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to write: on the contrary I was desperate to get back to my half-finished second novel. I just couldn’t.
Then, from just a simple conversation with a friend, I heard about an alternative medicine technique which piqued my interest. Now I’m not a newbie to these things: I’ve been tickled by reflexology, thumped and pounded by massage, I’ve even walked around the city with a needle sticking out the top of my head because it was forgotten in an acupuncture session. But this method my friend talked about was new so I thought I’d try it and here’s what happened:
Ruth, my practitioner, ensured I was comfortably cocooned in warmth which triggered a wonderful feeling of well-being. Without any oils or creams, her hands rolled lightly over my skin to loosen or tighten the muscles, depending on what they needed. Every now and again she’d pause and hold a muscle or tendon before wielding her “magic” thumbs, a technique which sent thousands of sensory messages to the brain. Once or twice during the hour she left me to stew in my slumbering trance, before she returned to administer a dreamy head and neck massage. There was a spot of foot and leg massage and after an hour I staggered home, flopped into bed and slept ten dreamless hours.
The next day I settled back at the computer. With shaking fingers I opened the file and…started writing. Oh, what sheer delight to sink once more into my imaginary world and my friends the characters, of being unaware of the hours rushing by. It was back! And it is back. For good I hope.
And just what was this technique? He he, I might just return here and tell you in a few days - if you're good, if you're very, very, very good. Actually, if anyone can guess, I might offer a free copy of "Perfect Score".
See you in a few days!
And, no, this isn't me - nor is it the technique. If I tried this, it'd be more than my writing ability that was shot to pieces.